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Continued from page 2

I didn't even attempt it.

Then we went for a little hike down the river stream. It was a beautiful sunny day. The host was jokingly flirting with our French companion, saying the only thing in French that he had learned was "Tres Jolie!" and the Aussies and Brits were walking ahead, planning their next adventure. I was in this beautiful and magnificent place, empowered and liberated by my independent travels, and yet ... absolutely miserable. There is no other word to describe the state in which you feel that you're missing once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. And I was miserable because I had come all this way ...

The Little Hike: The line of Adventurers and Cowards

I had come all this way to discover that I was a coward.

Along the way, we came across one last waterfall. We had seen it from the bottom, but took a way around to arrive at the top. I was so struck by fear again that I couldn't even remember whether the bottom was rocky or clear. I was shaking again. Then to my surprise, everyone of my companions started taking turns running towards the cliffy edge and jumping off into the unknown. First our host, then the five guys one by one, then the French girl. Then, there was me. I stood up there for what seemed like 30 minutes (I was later told it was only a few minutes), staring my certain death in the face.

I was embarrassed, looking at the accomplished, encouraging, and happy faces on the other side of the river. I was angry at myself for not being courageous. And worst of all, I was stuck. Turning around just didn't seem like an option. The only two options were to stay in suspense forever, or to jump.

The suspense seemed more difficult to tolerate. I had to find a way to induce in myself the desire to jump. So I started thinking: why am I afraid? Because there could be rocks down there and I could land on them with my head. How likely was it? I don't remember. But seven people had just successfully jumped off in front of my eyes, landed and crossed successfully. And they were looking at me and the bottom of the waterfall from the opposite side, telling me that it was going to be okay. So it's probably not as risky as I perceive it. Why should I do it? Because if I don't, I'll regret that moment for the rest of my life.

Then came a near-death moment.

Most near-death experiences I've heard of have been accidents. But I'm convinced that moment felt like dying. A rush of blood flowed in my face and every limb, as if my mind had accepted that my body's will was no longer under its control. I was in my mind. But my body was doing the running. What seemed like someone else's legs ran towards the cliffy edge, and my mind exerted one last command into my weak body to spring out and distance myself from the edge of the cliff in the final moment; a command that didn't even work, because my knees buckled in fear and everything became a sudden blur in the final moment.

I jumped off that cliff. And I did die in that moment. The coward inside of me died. I remember falling for a long 100 milliseconds that was long enough only for a brief thought. And the thought crossing my mind while falling was: "Well... this is it! I have eliminated the version of the future in which I'm a coward. I'll either land on rocks and that's the end, or I'll emerge as someone new on the other side."

I didn't register the impact when I landed feet first in water. In fact, I didn't register much of any feeling until I was about 8 feet under water, realizing that I had to swim back up if I wanted my next breath, and for my head not to implode under water pressure. When I emerged on the water surface, I was fighting the flow of the river, completely distracted from my previous fears. And when I finally made it to the other side, everyone started clapping and laughing in jest. "Alright!!! That wasn't so terrible, was it. Let's look for another waterfall ... Next!"

When I returned from the trip, it was October 2008, the peak of US recession. Everyone was being laid off. But these ensuing six months were very different from the six months of unemployment that I endured after graduation. From the recession of 2008 till six months later, I found an incredible project at Microsoft, a graduate admission into Carnegie Mellon University, a senior-level job at a Silicon Valley startup, and the girl I married. It's a story for another time (read it here: Formidable creations are unleashed when you let go of expectation - Amin Ariana), but the common thread for those achievements was the same lesson over and over:

Jump off the cliff and become alive, or spend a lifetime regretting it like a dead man walking.

I worked my butt off in several startups in Silicon Valley while studying in parallel in Carnegie Mellon, and finally against all odds and expectations, ended up at Google. I worked at Google while studying masters at the same time (Another story I've told here: Working at Google while completing a demanding Master's program - Amin Ariana) -- Can you imagine walking in the shoes of a person who couldn't find a job for six months, a mere seven years prior, now being handed the keys to (reportedly) the best company in the world?

Once again, I had a lot to lose. This time, it wasn't my life, but it was an amazing career.

After about two years of a satisfying experience at an amazing company, I was once again the miserable man walking like a coward along the river. I had dreams and ambitions. But I had a good life. Heck no, I had a great life. I knew I was privileged, despite hard work, in a world where the next guy doesn't know whether they can keep the roof above his family's head for another year. Why leave this? Why pursue dreams when you're already living a dream?

Encouraging quotes from famous people (across the river) didn't seem to make me feel better:

Were there none who were discontented with what they have, the world would never reach anything better.